


Steamer

by methylviolet10b



Series: Sometimes Drabbles Evolve [2]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drabble Collection, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-14
Updated: 2012-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-31 04:51:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An investigation. A nighttime cruise on the Thames. A life-or-death adventure, evolving 100 words at a time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steamer

**Author's Note:**

> I've been posting five 100-word Holmesian drabbles for well over a year now. Most of the time the drabbles stand alone, but every so often a single drabble evolves into an entire series, which tells a longer story. This is one of those times. These drabbles are presented in the order of the story, NOT in the order in which they first appeared.

 

 

**22\. Filthy**

“I beg yer pardon, sir!” The filthy sailor who had just collided with me snatched his cap off of his head and bobbed in apology. “I’m none so steady on land, I’m afeared.”

“That’s quite all right. There’s no harm done,” I reassured him.

The man backed away, still mumbling apologies. I started to continue on my errand, but a sudden suspicion made me check my pockets.

My wallet and pocketwatch were both still in place, but something new crackled against my questing hand. Bemused, I pulled out a note that had not been there when I left Baker Street.

 

**23\. Demented**

The note, scribbled in pencil on a bit of butcher’s paper, was terse and to the point:

Watson – Return to Baker Street at once. I will be with you as soon as I can. Keep your revolver with you at all times. – SH.

I recognized the handwriting immediately, as well as the warning it contained. I surreptitiously glanced around for any sign of the sailor, but he had long since vanished. Holmes himself, or a confederate? It hardly mattered. Remembering the demented gleam in the eyes of our quarry, I lost no time in hastening homewards and fetching my gun.

 

**15\. Burning**

It was all darkness and confusion. There was no time to think, only react.

“Holmes!” I shouted for him instinctively, even knowing it was futile. I felt desperate to find him in the chaotic madness, to know that he was all right. Only shouts and screams echoed in my ears. Acrid fumes scorched my nostrils, and I stumbled, struggling to reach the nearby wall.

Suddenly I felt a burning pain rip through me, tearing across my old wound, wrenching every muscle in my body with utter agony. Blackness crashed down on me like a hammer and I knew no more.

 

**16\. Lonely**

I felt no guilt in abandoning Watson to his lonely vigil. I knew he expected me, but my purposes were far better served with him watching Austin while I attended to other matters. The hour and the crowd argued against Austin attempting anything, and Watson’s vigilance would ensure it. In the meantime, I was free to search for evidence that would link Austin to the murders.

Besides which, the violinist in the quartet was _terrible_. Watson could stand the din better than I.

My satisfaction vanished when I felt the floor shudder underneath me and heard a loud, distant explosion.

 

**20\. Missing**

The electric lights were gone. His oil lantern illuminated brief glimpses of hellish panic. He could feel tremors underfoot, the death-throes growing stronger.

There was no sign of Watson.

Holmes hesitated at the juncture. The closest way lay escape, where hopefully Watson already awaited him. The other led straight to the heart of peril and probable death. And the salon where he’d sent Watson.

Snarling, Holmes plunged into the darkness. He’d be damned, truly, if he saw John Watson’s name on a list of missing and presumed lost. It would either be neither of their names so listed, or both.

 

**21\. Motionless**

At first glance, the salon appeared deserted. I raised my lantern high, trying to pierce the increasingly acrid gloom. “Watson?”

There was no answer. The floor beneath me tilted again, its angle increasing fractionally. I knew the time left to escape was rapidly running out.

Something – I do not know what – caused me to venture further into the room, rather than turn and make my way upwards. The light from my lantern glinted off of polished wood floor, various scattered belongings, a tangled wreck of metal, a shoe…

_Watson’s shoe!_

I ran to the motionless form of my fallen friend.

 

**25\. Unconscious**

There was blood on my friend’s brow, and more soaking the shoulder of his frock coat. The fallen chandelier had pierced his bad shoulder – how deeply, I could not tell. In the wavering light of my lantern, he looked terribly pale. I could not see him breathing.

“Watson?” I fumbled at his throat, trying to feel beneath cravat and collar for a pulse. Thankfully I found one almost at once. Unconscious, then, not dead, thank God!

Alive, but injured, and we were both in mortal peril. I had to get him free and out of here as quickly as possible.

 

**27\. Flee**

My attempts to remove the wrought iron from Watson’s flesh worsened the bleeding, but also roused my friend from his unconscious stupor. A low groan alerted me, and I heaved the chandelier aside before kneeling by his side.

Watson’s eyes were dazed and dimmed with pain, but he recognized me. “Holmes.”

“Yes, Watson. Can you stand?” I hated to ask it of him, but I had little choice.

“I…can try.” I helped lever him to his feet. He swayed and leaned heavily on my arm. “What…happened?”

“I believe the boiler exploded. I _know_ we’re sinking. We must flee at once.”

 

**35\. Leap**

I could feel every tremor that shook Watson’s frame as I half-supported, half-carried him up the stairs and out onto the deck. His breath came in short gasps as he fought the effects of shock and blood loss.

The scene that met our eyes was horrible beyond description. Men and women, dressed for a pleasant evening’s journey to Gravesend, jammed up against every rail, shouting and weeping. Many heads already bobbed in the water below. Even as I watched, more people made the desperate leap into the Thames.

Our only choices: jump and try to swim, or sink and die.

 

**37\. Fall**

Somehow we managed to work through the panicked crowd to the nearest railing. Watson swayed, near to collapse, but my friend managed to keep conscious somehow. Out on the river, I could see the lights of several craft heading in our direction, rushing to assist our stricken ship and rescue those already adrift in the Thames. We could not wait. I helped Watson climb over the side of our increasingly listing vessel.

His tenuous balance failed, and I could not stop his fall. All I could do was jump in after him, and hope to find Watson before he drowned.

 

**36a. Scream**

The water was only summer-cool, not cold, but the Thames is foul in any season. The shock of plunging into it partially jolted me out of my dazed state. I fought my way to the surface, ignoring the agony of my injured shoulder in my near-panic.

“Watson!” I heard Holmes’ voice as soon as my head broke the surface. I blinked water out of my eyes and spotted him swimming towards me.

A scream jerked my attention upwards. A woman clutched her shrieking child to her breast as she leaped from the sinking ship and plunged downwards, straight onto Holmes.

 

**45\. Lose**

Swimming was beyond me. I could barely keep both Holmes and myself afloat. My shoulder was nearly useless, certainly so for swimming, but I could just manage to keep Holmes’ lolling head braced against it, his mouth scarcely above the fetid water. I used all my other limbs to half-float on my back, thrashing ceaselessly to keep us from drowning.

I could barely feel my wounds anymore. Dizziness was irrelevant when water was all I could see.

Exhausted, my consciousness narrowed to one idea. I would not lose him to the river. The Thames would have to take me too.

 

**59\. Snake**

A flash of light startled me into greater alertness. I half-craned my head upwards, trying to raise it without sinking myself and Holmes. I couldn’t hold the posture for long, but I managed to catch a glimpse of a boat, not too far distant but travelling away from us. Some aboard held lanterns aloft, calling out while searching for survivors. Others used arms and boat-hooks to pull sodden figures over the rail.

With what seemed a monumental effort, I managed to snake my good arm up just long enough to splash it down with some force, trying to attract attention.

 

**60\. Bed**

I thought I heard a shout through water-clogged ears. I could not look. My movement had dislodged Holmes, and he slipped beneath the Thames. Dragging him up took nearly all of my remaining strength.

Hands came from nowhere, reaching out to help, but too high above us to grasp. With a last, desperate effort, I shoved Holmes towards them, forcing his limp body upwards. The same movement drove me under.

Water closed over my face.

Holmes’ weight vanished, and I sank, too spent to find the surface. I drifted downwards toward the dark river-bed. My last thought was of him.

 

**51\. Shackles**

I came awake with a gasp that immediately turned into horrible, wracking coughs. Each seizure drove fresh spikes of agony through my already-splitting skull. For an interminable interval, I could not breathe, or think, or do anything but suffer. Finally the fit eased, and my mind came awake, shaking off the shackles of injury and fatigue.

_Where was I?_

The answer was apparent almost as soon as I thought of the question. I was unquestionably on a small ship, one packed to the rails with wet, shivering people.

 _Survivors_.

_The explosion!_

Horror seized me as memory returned.

Where was Watson?  
  
  
  


**64\. Fire**

I wracked my hazy memory, every nerve-end feeling on fire. I remembered Watson, injured and half-conscious, falling into the water. I remembered jumping in after him. And then…nothing. Utter blankness, although from my sopping garments, my aching head, and my congested lungs, I could deduce that I had nearly drowned. But all this told me only of my own survival, not his.

I staggered to my feet, determined to start searching. If I had been saved, Watson must have been too. Sparks danced in my vision. I lost my balance and almost fell, but strong arms caught me from behind.

 

**65\. River**

“Easy, mate,” a rough voice rumbled as I regained my balance. “Ye’re awake now, mayhap, but none ready to move.”

I forced my eyes to focus on the man helping me to stand. He was dressed in the rough garb of a working waterman, but was every bit as drenched as I. “My friend,” I gasped, words tripping over my tongue. “He fell into the water – he was in the river with me – he must be here, where is he?”

Something in the grave, gentle expression on the waterman’s face froze my tongue. “A friend indeed. He saved your life.”

.

**66\. Water**

_Of course Watson saved my life_ , I thought muzzily. _Please God, not at the cost of his own._ I shuddered violently, my usual calm in tatters. I could not speak, but the waterman appeared to understand me anyway. He scrutinized my face and nodded once. “Aye, I know. I had a mate like that once. So when I saw yer friend go under the water whilst hoisting ye to safety, and not come up again…”

 _No! No no no no_ …

“…I dove in after him.”

Words like a lifeline, dragging me back to sanity. The waterman sighed. “Come wi’ me.”

 

**67\. Stone**

I followed him through the press of soaked survivors packing the deck, outwardly stone-faced, but inwardly trembling. The waterman’s words had reawakened hope in my breast, but his somber demeanor nearly smothered it. For once in my life I could not anticipate, dared not deduce, shunned speculation. Dread dogged every step. My mind seemed limited to two phrases: _John Watson_ and _please_.

Without warning, the waterman ducked beneath a low doorway into the ship’s small cabin. Steps up led to the wheel; steps down to the boiler-room, now jammed with prostrate, still forms. The sudden warmth made me dizzy.

_Watson!_

 

**68\. Iron**

It was terribly dark. Most of the lamps were missing from their wall-hooks. In the dull red light from the furnace’s open hatch, I could scarcely distinguish one body from the next. And yet my eyes immediately latched onto one particular form, drawn like iron filings to a magnet.

I do not remember how I got to him. I hope I did not step on anyone. I heard the waterman leave, but my entire attention remained riveted to the clammy, limp body I pulled into my lap. His breath ghosted against my damp skin.

“Watson. I’m here. Stay with me.”

 

**69\. Wood**

How does he do it?

How does he turn an ordinary pen, a simple instrument of wood and steel, into a conduit for his thoughts and feelings? How does he change ink into a channel for his very soul?

How do I find the words to express what it was like, one hand stained with the blood I tried to keep inside him, the other feeling desperately for every faint, laboring heartbeat, every water-logged breath?

How to impart all that haunts me even yet?

I cannot.

Absorbed in the fight for Watson’s life, I never even learned the waterman’s name.

 

**70\. Bullet**

It has been weeks since our misadventure. Our near-drowning left no visible scars, unlike the chandelier. Fortunately the new marks are hardly noticeable amongst the scars left by the Jezail bullet.

Overall, our outer damage was light. On the inside, though…

Holmes watches me like a hawk, even now. Our days are bright, but his nights are shadowed by remembered horror. As are mine.

However, near-death brought other changes.

We know – not just believe, but _know_ – what we would give for each other. And we know even better how to value what we have in the time we are given.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Originally completed and posted March 29, 2011


End file.
